But this is beyond ego. Landon is stealing prized possessions all over the Bay, and he’s got his eyes set on the Mustang. He needs to know he can’t fuck with me – and the best way to do that is with a win.
‘You have reached your destination,’ the robotic voice announces on my GPS. I turn toward an underground car park on the south side of Booker Bay, just behind the estate where I live. My heart kicks against my ribs.
Past the entrance, there’s already two other racers waiting at the starting line – a red Evo, and a blue Nissan Silvia. Each has a window tint so dark that I can’t see who’s behind the wheel, but I think the driver in the Silvia is wearing a fedora. Other than them, it’s row upon row of empty car bays with support columns holding the levels above. There’s no music, no flashing neon lights and no quarter-mile straight. It doesn’t take long to spot Landon leaning against his Civic, deep in conversation with someone I’ve never seen before.
The Civic with camber suspension, made for taking corners with precision.
‘Shit,’ I mumble under my breath.
I guide the Mustang beside the other two racers and kill the engine, taking a steadying breath before I step out. Landon turns to face me. When I meet his gaze, a smug look etches his features and his eyes crinkle at the edges.
Hesitation and resignation mix like a lethal cocktail in my gut, but still, I close the door behind me with a thud. ‘Different track than I imagined.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Landon rubs his hands together. ‘Let’s see how you handle a real race. We’ve already marked the race line.’
He points to a freshly painted blue line along the asphalt that bends and moves between the pillars. Like a snake, the line curves, creating a double hairpin corner before going up a spiralled ramp where it disappears. I frown, wondering where it leads.
‘We finish four levels up,’ Landon explains, like he’s crawled inside my mind. ‘On the roof.’
My eyes scale the length of the building. Why would we finish on the roof? You can only take these corners if we were—‘Drifting?’ I arch a brow. ‘Are you crazy?’
Landon’s cocky grin takes over his entire face. My heart picks up while dread settles in right down to the pit of my stomach.
I should leave.
It’s not too late to just go home.
‘You here to look pretty or we racing, skirt?’ Landon asks, face looking so smug, I can’t think of anything more punchable.
I’ve drifted before, enough to know that the Mustang is not built for it.
‘I understand if you wanna back down and go back to your little quarter-miles. They’re more suited for you, skirt.We wouldn’t want any exhaust fumes on your pretty face.’ He turns to eye the Mustang. ‘Wouldn’t want that ride of yours damaged either.’
He reaches out to caress my cheek, but I jerk out of his way with a scowl. Heat unfurls in my insides and I feel my eyes burning from the fire he’s just ignited. My breathing turns ragged.
‘You didn’t say this was a drift race. Seems like Midnight Spares isn’t the only business you’re running and lying about.’ I nod to his vehicle. ‘I’m surprised you’ve even got a plate on the Civic.’
His smile drops, and he chuckles in an empty, menacing way that smothers my body in chills. He steps forward, leaning down so close I physically have to stop myself from recoiling at the stench of his breath. I don’t back down, meeting his glare.
‘You sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong, skirt?’
‘I’ll make you a deal, Landon.’ I don’t take my eyes off his. ‘I win, you don’t set foot in Booker Bay again. I don’t see your face at The Tropics, and you pack up your dodgy-assbusinessin Empire City tonight and never come back.’
I square my shoulders as he lets out a single, hollow laugh and leans in even closer.
‘And if I win?’ he sneers.
‘Ifyou win.’ I swallow. ‘I never saw a thing. Deal?’
His eyes narrow as he lets out a snort. When he says nothing, I dig around in my pocket until my fingers wrap around what I’m looking for. I toss the roll of cash to Landon. He catches it and smells the length of it.
‘So much sweeter when it comes from a girl,’ he sneers before tossing the bundle to his silent friend. The friend limps to the starting line, and Landon sinks into his car.
I whip around, heading back to the Mustang at the entrance. I sink into the seat, kiss the polaroid of me and Jace, and unravel my scrunchie from the shifter to tie up my hair. I key the engine and the ignition rumbles, along with the other vehicles, through the empty lot. I burn my tyres into the ground before rolling toward the starting line between Landon and the red Evo.
Landon’s friend takes his mark, standing in front of us with his arms raised.
I turn to reach for the NOS tanks but pause. Will I need NOS? I don’t think the track has a straight long enough to handle it.
